Doki Doki
by Travelocity
Summary: MTMTE. Fluff. Mech/Mech. Not actually M but hey, lol.


"Drift, I'm starting to speculate that you are of age, but too young to drink."

He stared at his quarter-full Energon cube. "I am… I am well. I am capable of this. This this. Whooh, that is a different word. Thisssss-"

"Ok, you are proving me correct," Ratchet vented, shoving Drift's drink far off out of both their reach. "Now, can you stand?"

"I-I… I am very cap-…capable, Doc. I can get to my room f-fine," the ex-Con rubbed his optics wearily, turning his frame to look for his corridor. All directions of which, were none of his.

"Hmf. Drift, come with me. On second thought, don't. Not on your own." The medic leaned down and scooped up the silvery mech, tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of spare parts.

The mech huffed. "I-I am not a…a-" he hiccupped, "s-sparkling!"

Ratchet patted him on the back struts rather hard. "Mm, you are though. You're lucky Magnus ain't here to spank you for being intoxicated, Bunny."

Drift squirmed. "W… w-why do you call m-me Bunny, Ratch?" He sounded slightly inebriated, but he wasn't impossible to understand.

The medic shrugged, although Drift just though it was to shift weight while they walked down the C-hall. It was abandoned, especially at this hour. Nevertheless, it had its benefits. Ratchet couldn't give a scrap less if Drift was seen indecent, …but he'd feel awful if the kid was seen being carried off. Well scrap, I mean, look at him; he's overcharged and that spells out trouble.

"Ya _should_ smell like highgrade too, butcha don't," the aged medic continued his thoughts aloud. Ratchet halted in front of his quarters and Drift's helm lulled a little into the back of his neck.

"We've arrived, Bunny."

The young mech tilted his upper half up to look around lazily. "Huh, what?"

Ratchet couldn't help but snicker. After punching in his code 3 failed times, he made it inside with his comrade. The red bot hesitated and decided to gingerly place Drift down onto his berth… like a sack of spare parts.

The medic let him remain as he trailed off to his washracks to wash up. The grey mechling sprawled out his limbs and rubbed his back against the comforter on Ratchet's berth. "Ahhh… soft soft soft," he groaned with pleasure.

Not long after, Ratchet returned. He picked a little at his denta, smirking as he saw Drift coiled up in the comforter. What? Like you could help it if you saw a grown- well, partially grown mech cuddled into a berth, a little less than overcharged by now?

As Ratchet made a slow walk to his occupied berth, he could hear his friend stir. He would have given him a bit of a check-up but why wake him? Right now, the sounds emanating from him were rather soothing. Ratchet lay back in a temporary position atop his pillows and shut off his optics.

_Mm. Bunny, I just don't understand you sometimes. But if you weren't here, life on this fragged up ship wouldn't be the same._

Within his thoughts, the background noises silenced. The high grade induced mech awoke, charge wearing away.

"Mmh, h-hey Ratch. …Where am I?" he queried first.

"My quarters. Bunny, how're you feeling?"

"I… I feel fine I guess." The ex-Con blinked a bit and squinted. "How're you?"

Ratchet chuckled and rubbed his helm, getting a soft smile in response. "I am fine as well. You've been drinkin', kid. I uh, don't know how well you can hold your 'grade."

The pointed-helmed mech nodded a bit and scooted aside. "Got room for one more," he smiled.

Shaking his helm, Ratchet climbed down onto the comforter beside him. "For Primus' sake it's _my _berth."

"Yeah but… but if you were ever in my berth I'd let you stay with me. In my berth," said Drift, still repeating words and stuttering. Still cognitive though. Drunk but not drunk, Ratchet supposed.

But after his statement it went rather quiet. There were whirrs of the ship and white noise of the heater. Ratchet's cheekplates flushed after thinking over what he'd said. _I'd let you stay in my berth,_ Drift just told him. That's uh…

"That's uh… t-thank you, I presume," the red and white mech answered awkwardly, turning his helm to the wall as an alternative. 'Charged or not, Drift probably knew the reason what he'd said was… different. Best not to look him in the optics.

An hour passed; well, something like that. Ratchet had drifted off until the bot lying by his backside had made some… intrigued warbles. Turning slowly, the medic squinted, seeing through a sleepy haze. The foolish bot was tapping at his chestplate.

"Oh… oh. Ah, what?" he leaned up intently. Ratchet watched him, bewildered.

"What's wrong with you, kid?"

Drift laughed lightly and sat up onto his shins. "I dunno. My frame's making noises though."

"What?" Ratchet asked seriously.

"Nah, nah. It's my uh… hey Doc, what is it?"

He massaged his bridge, optics shut again. "That's where your spark is, halfwit. In your chestplate like always. Jeez, you musta been more out of it than I thought."

But Drift back to listening to himself. "Mm… mmm. Hmmhmm," he started humming out deep sounds. Ratchet had curled over into his sheets by then, trying to sleep with the obnoxious sparkling that was busy discovering himself all over again.

Then a sharp squeal woke him yet again.

"Ratch, Ratch. Wake up," the silver mech whispered although, rather late for that.

"What what what do you _want_?!" the medic whispered loudly, hoarsely.

"I… is there a monster in me?"

"… a what?"

"Monster. Beast. Scary beings. I don't have one in here do I? Do I?" he pointed to his chestplate again, unnerved and looking legitimately frightened. "I-I hear things in there."

Ratchet bit his lip to avoid cussing at him. He was still somewhat inebriated. You just can't lash out and be an aft. And he couldn't to be honest, despite his reputation. … Certainly not to Drift. Especially not to Bunny. _His_ Bunny.

Venting, the docbot sat up and pulled his comrade into his sheets with him. "First off, there are no such things as filthy, fraggin' monsters. Excluding Decepticons, 'course."

Drift kept his concerned face on.

"Second… what noise are you talking about, ya nut?"

The smaller mech became mousy, leaning in and Ratchet pressed his audial to Drift's chest.

**_Bum, bum, bum, bum._**

"Drift…"

"W-what am I gonna die?"

Now, things were getting rather humerous. "No, no," the experienced medic began. He began petting Drift to soothe his tense set up. "That is your spark beat. That's always been there. Even when you're sober, kid."

The worried soldier was soothed by the doctor's diagnosis. His explanation, rather. His helm leaned up into the petting.

"And it will always be there."

Smiling shyly, the intoxicated mech blushed, mewling, "Doki, doki."

Ratchet couldn't help but smile. Sadly though, he knew what that meant. He needed to stop searching dialects when bored out of his processor.

"Yes, Bunny… doki, doki." Waiting a little, Ratchet took Drift's servo and placed it to his chestplate, just over where his spark was located. The mech placed his other servo against his Bunny's plating.

"We both have one. We both have sparks, we both have sparks that beat and-"

"Do t-they beat at the same time?" he asked sleepily.

Letting his servo slide a bit, Ratchet looked away a moment, a little embarrassed by the question. "Only if you meet somebot special, kid… that's how you'll know."

The ex-Decepticon fluttered his optics before laying his helm onto Ratchet's warming chest, just under his chinpiece. "Y-yours... yours and mine feel the same…" he trailed off, yawning. Brightness faded against Ratchet's metallic skin as Drift's optics fell shut.

Making an expression of mixed emotions, the medic simply put his servo to the top of Drift's helm. "M-… maybe that's why we're close friends."

The young Autobot, fell asleep, first mewling, "M-maybe we can be more than that."

Ratchet blushed. The Energon in him burned to his cheekplates at that. Drift… how could he…

"B-bunny… I-I… mmh." The older mech gave up and slept with him still on him.

Maybe they could. …Maybe they could.


End file.
